That evening, when I got home I was in front of the mirror before I heard the front door slam shut. I had sneaked back to my office and hid all after...oon. Shit, my boss wanted to see me about the Preston report. All I could think about was the wager. Try as I might, no revelations occurred to me about the origin but the conditions were branded into my memory. I went to the john to take a crap and inadvertently started to pee. Too late again. From your chest, legs and arms without any. I was so on the edge for just falling right to sleep. As she massaged each part of my body she would carefully pull back the covers to expose the place she massaged. After she finished my thighs I felt her expose my butt and begin to massage there. She seemed to have a lot of oil on her hands when she massaged there and rubbed and kneaded on my butt for quite a while. She gently shifted my legs open some and worked on my butt from the outside to the middle. Then I felt her very oily finger. However my boyfriend, Craig, had talked me into staying for a while, and letting him pick out some underwear for me. "Especially for our holiday," he had grinned, as I reluctantly agreed, knowing he would get carried away. Plus the store manager would be pissed of with me. As the women walked to the exit, Craig came through the entrance. He was looking sexier than ever, in a plain white tee that really made his abs stand out. His baggy jeans suited his 6'2 height and he was wearing shades. He. It had been reduced to a point where I’d buy it, with or without Anna. But I didn’t tell her that.She didn’t call back right away. And the house remained unsold. About a month later, the phone rang. “Hi. This is Anna, the realtor.”“Yes, I remember. Nice to hear from you.”“Look, this is very awkward, but I want to meet you for lunch. Just to talk.”“Wonderful. Let’s do it tomorrow. I’ll come by your office and get you.”“No”, she said firmly, “Let’s meet at Le Figaro, a French restaurant.
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